Into the bitter waters,—even now
Taking a foretaste of the awful trance
That was to pass on his own countenance!
Yes! yes! and he is holding his pale lips
Over her brow; the shade of an eclipse
Is passing to his heart, and to his eye
That is not tearful; but the light will die
Leaving it like a moon within a mist,—
The vision of a spell-bound visionist!
He breathed a cold kiss on her ashy cheek,